


2nd

by torigates



Series: Slide to Answer [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Phone Calls & Telephones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-03 22:12:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10976376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torigates/pseuds/torigates
Summary: The young guys seemed to take it the hardest. He and TK and Brayden. The kid-line, they called them. Mitch had his head down in the locker room. He could still hear the Swedes out celebrating on the ice, that’s how loud it was. It sucked.





	2nd

The team went out to celebrate. 

Given the choice, Mitch would have rathered head back to the hotel, get a good night’s sleep. He had a couple week’s worth of travelling ahead with his family, and it didn’t feel like there was too much to be celebrating. 

The young guys seemed to take it the hardest. He and TK and Brayden. The kid-line, they called them. Mitch had his head down in the locker room. He could still hear the Swedes out celebrating on the ice, that’s how loud it was. It sucked. 

“Come on,” Nate said, sitting down next to him in the locker room. Mitch was still in his full gear, only gotten as far as taking off his skates. Nate was stripped down to his under armor, and he wrapped an arm around Mitch’s shoulder, pulling him in for a noogie. “Don’t look so sad. We’re gonna go out for a last night on the town.” 

Mitch attempted to shrug him off, but the effort was half-assed at best. He liked the proximity, and he liked Nate. “I dunno,” he said. 

“No way,” Nate said. “You’re coming. Everyone is. Besides, we won silver! Come on, don’t look so glum.” 

Mitch sighed. “I guess,” he said. 

Nate grinned at him. “That’s the spirit. Come on, get undressed.” He bounded off to go talk to Barrie before Mitch had a chance to respond. 

Doing as he was bid, Mitch began to strip off his gear, starting with his jersey. He threw it on the laundry pile and went for his shoulder pads. He took the opportunity to look around the room at his teammates. No one looked overjoyed, obviously. They’d come to win gold and fallen short of that goal. For the most part, his teammates looked disappointed, but not crushed. Mitch didn’t really get it. He knew they all wanted it just as much as he did, if not more. 

In the showers, the mood of the room started to lift. Guys talked talked about their plans for the rest of the summer, training and otherwise. Mitch let the talk wash over him. He still felt like he was under a black cloud, but his mood was always partially dictated by those around him, and as everyone else got ready to go Mitch found himself feeling a little better, smiling a little hesitantly. 

The place they ended up at was more like a club than a bar. It was already pretty late, the building packed with people dancing and drinking under flashing lights. The music was almost overwhelming in volume with a loud thumping bass Mitch could practically feel reverberating through his chest. 

Nate grabbed his wrist, dragging Mitch with him towards the bar. They had to push through a crowd several people deep before they were up against the counter. Mitch let Nate do the ordering. He had no idea how to order a drink in German, and didn’t want to try. 

He watched with somewhat detached amusement as Nate went through a somewhat complicated dance, trying to convey to the bartender what they wanted. 

“What are the chances that guy speaks English and is just messing with me?” Nate shouted in his ear after. 

Mitch laughed. “Pretty high,” he shouted back. 

Nate nodded like that was what he expected. 

It wasn’t long before the bartender was pushing several pitchers towards them. Nate threw some euros down on the counter, Mitch would have to be sure to get a round later. He was one of the younger guys on the team, and so far everyone had been great and supportive. Not only with regards to hockey, but also just showing him the ropes and how to navigate an international tournament. 

It wasn’t his first time playing overseas for Hockey Canada, but it was his first time with the men’s team, and it meant a lot that so many guys were willing to step in and help him. 

“Come on,” Nate shouted, and shoved a couple containers into Mitch’s hands. 

They made their way back through the crowd, although more carefully this time. Mitch still managed to spill a bunch of beer over his hands as they walked, and when he was finally able to put them down on the table their team had staked out for them his hands were sticky and damp. 

Someone poured a pint for him and shoved it into his hand, Mitch didn’t see who. He nodded his thanks in the general direction the drink had come from, and brought the cup up to his lips taking several long pulls. The beer was crisp and cool, and better than the stuff he usually drank, Mitch could admit. He could see why Leo was such a hipster about his preferred beer, maybe. He’d have to try and find out the brand so he could tell him about it. 

It was weird to be thinking about that, about going home. He had come right from the long gruelling NHL season, and the first round of playoffs, to another month long tournament of hockey. He didn’t regret it, of course he didn’t, but now the summer stretched out long ahead of him. 

A bunch of the guys were drinking and laughing around him. Some had already made their way to the dancefloor, and others were at the bar or chatting girls up. He could see Nate where he wandered off to talk to a tall, very European girl with sleek hair and dark lips. She didn’t look very impressed. 

Some guys were still wearing their silver medals, reminding Mitch this was supposed to be a celebration. Mitch left his with his mom. He kind of didn’t want to look at it. 

Mitch was on his third or fourth drink by the time Killorn wrapped an arm around his shoulder and shouted, “Come on, lil miz, let’s go get our groove on!” 

Mitch laughed and let himself be pulled out onto the dance floor. The loss wasn’t completely forgotten, but the sting of it was lessening. Mitch had a great time on this trip, and he played a lot of excellent hockey. They didn’t achieve what they set out to do, but they came pretty fucking close. 

There were tons of bodies all pressed together on the dance floor. Mitch wasn’t what anyone would call a good dancer, but what he lacked in skill he made up for in shamelessness. He allowed himself to get swept up in the tide of bodies, moving along to the beat. He could see a bunch of his teammates dancing with girls pressed up against them, and he wished suddenly that Dylan could be here too. 

He imagined what it would be like to bring Dylan like some of the guys brought their girlfriends, but the image kept snagging. It felt wrong. He imagined instead that Dylan was here, that he’d played the tournament with Mitch on his wing, that they could have had the storybook ending that fell flat in Finland.

He felt suddenly winded, and looked around for Killorn, but didn’t see him anywhere. Pushing through the crowd, he made his way back to their table. It was mostly empty, except for a couple guys who turned out to be Nate and Tyson when Mitch got close enough to make them out. 

Tyson handed Mitch another pint and a shot.

“Thanks,” Mitch said, throwing the shot back, and making a face when the alcohol burned. 

Mitch sat down at the table, taking several long sips from his pint glass. He was tired and thirsty and more than a little sweaty from being out on the dance floor. 

Nate and Tyson were talking, their heads bowed close together. Mitch couldn’t really hear them over the noise in the club, could only make every third word or so. It sounded like Tyson wanted to do something, and Nate was trying to talk him out of it. 

Eventually, Mitch finished his drink and had to go pee. He stood up, only to find himself a little more unsteady on his feet than he was expecting. 

Nate put a hand on his arm. “You okay, Marnsy?” he asked. 

Mitch nodded. “Fine,” he said. “Gonna find the bathroom.” 

Nate waved him off, his attention immediately snapping back to Tyson, and the two of them appeared to be fighting over Tyson’s phone. Mitch watched bewildered and amused as Nate finally won, holding the phone over his head and out of Tyson’s reach. 

It was quieter in the bathroom, when Mitch finally found his way there and pushed through the door. It closed behind him, leaving the sounds from the club muffled like someone had put their hands over his ears. There were a couple guys at the urinals, and--from the sounds of it--at least two more in the stalls hooking up. 

Mitch blushed, trying not to look or listen while he relieved himself. 

The alcohol coursing through him, and the moans coming from the stall behind him left Mitch more than a little turned on as he left the bathroom, which was weird. Mitch shook his head and took a moment to adjust to the loud music, hitting him like a physical blow as he made his way back into the club. 

He went to go find his teammates. 

It seemed like a lot of people had disbursed already, but he spotted TK with Giroux and Simmer over by the bar. Killorn and Brayden were standing close by. A lot of guys had come with a least one other teammate, and Mitch even though everyone made him feel welcome and he got to know a lot of new people, he wished someone from home could have been here with him. 

Besides Willy, of course. 

Thinking of Willy made him feel sad again, and Mitch didn’t want that. He was happy for Willy, so happy, but _fuck_ if losing didn’t suck. 

His feet carried him towards an exit before he really knew what he was doing, and he found himself outside surrounded by a bunch of smokers. 

It was nearly four in the morning when he took out his phone to check the time. There were a bunch of text notifications as well, friends and teammates from back home congratulating him on winning silver. He scrolled through them slowly. Thinking about replying to everyone made his stomach feel tight and heavy. 

There was a text from Dylan, almost at the exact moment Mitch lost the shootout for them. _Sucks man. Love you baby_. 

Mitch smiled to himself, and pressed the call button on his phone before he could think better of it. 

Dylan answered on the second ring. “Hey, babe,” he said. “How’re you doing?” 

Mitch was suddenly so achingly grateful that Dylan didn’t congratulate him he had to blink back tears. “Good,” he said. “Or well, you know.” 

Dylan hummed low in his ear, and Mitch remembered that Dylan _did_ know, had in fact gone through the exact same thing. 

“It sucks,” Mitch mumbled into the phone. 

Dylan laughed. “Fucking tell me about it,” he said. Then, after a short pause, “Where are you? Isn’t it super late there?” 

“Yeah,” Mitch said. “Just--out with the boys. They wanted to celebrate.” 

“Isn’t that kinda--weird,” Dylan said, tripping over the last word like he didn’t want to offend Mitch. 

“Yeah,” Mitch agreed. “But I wasn’t really given a choice, so.” 

“So…” Dylan said. “How’re you doing?” 

Mitch sighed. He’d been putting off examining his feelings too closely but they all kind of crashed over him now. “It just… sucks,” Mitch said. 

“Yeah,” Dylan said. 

“I wanted to win.” 

“Yeah,” Dylan said again. There wasn’t much else to say. 

Mitch took a shuddery breath. 

“At least you didn’t lose to the fucking Americans,” Dylan said after a moment. 

That startled a real laugh out of Mitch. “Yeah,” he said. “If anyone else had to win, I’m glad it was Willy.” 

“Still sucks though,” Dylan said. 

Mitch laughed again. “It really fucking does,” he agreed. Dylan let him just breath at him over the line for a moment. “Tell me about you guys,” Mitch said. “What is going on with Windsor?” 

Dylan laughed. “Who the hell knows? Did you see Connor came down?” 

“No,” Mitch said. 

He listened to Dylan talk about what Connor was up to in Windsor and his plans for the summer, and how he wanted Dylan to be involved. 

“That sounds good,” Mitch said. 

“Yeah,” Dylan said. “But we’re still going to do our whatever, right?” 

“Our whatever?” Mitch asked. 

“You know, our thing. Our me and you time.” 

For the second time that night, Mitch found himself swallowing around a lump in his throat. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, Dyls, of course.” 

“Okay,” Dylan said happily. “Been looking forward to it.” 

“Yeah?” Mitch asked. 

“Yeah,” Dylan confirmed. His voice was low and warm. “Haven’t seen you in forever.” 

“I miss you too,” Mitch told him. 

They chatted for a few minutes more, about nothing in particular. Mitch just liked to hear the sound of Dylan’s voice. When he broke off for the second time to yawn in as many sentences Mitch wrapped the conversation up. 

“I should let you go,” he said. “Big game tomorrow.” 

“Yeah,” Dylan agreed. “Call you after?” 

“Sounds good, good luck, babe.” 

“Night,” Dylan said. 

“Night,” Mitch echoed, and then watched his screen turn black. He waited for another moment, just watching the smokers and the few pedestrians there still were out on the streets. They’d have to get back to the hotel soon, he thought. 

Just then, Matt Duchene poked his head out the back door. “There you are,” he said. “We’ve been looking all over for you, we’re heading out.” 

“Cool,” Mitch said, pushing off the brick wall he’d been leaning against. “I’m coming.”


End file.
